


Confluence

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Banter, Doctor Merlin (Merlin), Established Relationship, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Interview, M/M, Major Character Injury, Meet-Cute, Merlioske-friendly, Pianist Arthur, Rehabilitation, Talk Show Host Gwen, The Audience Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: “Well, certainly it was lucky that our paths met when they did,” says Merlin. “It felt kind of inevitable, like a sort of confluence, I suppose. And when I say it was lucky, I don’t just mean for Arthur, either. Because, actually, well. He would never say this, because he gets all embarrassed, but I can, and the world should know about his bravery… and… well. The fact is that Arthur would never have been injured if he hadn’t been trying to protect me.”
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 211
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 10





	Confluence

**Author's Note:**

> _Confluence (noun): /ˈkɒn.fluː.əns/_  
>  The place where two rivers flow together and become one larger river.  
> A situation in which two things join or come together.
> 
> Written for the "Knife wounds / lacerations" square on my 2019 hurt/comfort bingo card.

“So tell me, Arthur. How did you and your partner meet, exactly?” Gwen Smith, doyenne of talk-show hosts, leans forward, eyes kind and conspiratorial.

She is sitting on her famous interviewing chair, while popular pianist Arthur Pendragon-Emrys and his husband, Merlin, smile sheepishly at the cameras amid loud applause from the studio audience. Arthur is promoting his latest project, a solo album which seems to be set to break all records for sales, but until now none of his appearances have featured his handsome medic husband. In fact, this is the first time that Merlin has agreed to appear in public—on the proviso that he can plug his favourite charity.

Gwen can’t hide her excitement that the notoriously secretive pair have both agreed to come on the show together. They’re both impeccably dressed, in designer suits and ties, although Merlin’s hair seems to be breaking out of the careful styling that the backstage technicians had spent hours coaxing it into. Arthur, accustomed to performance, nods and waves at the audience while Merlin, less comfortable in the limelight, chews at his bottom lip and tugs nervously at his hair.

When Gwen speaks, the whoops and cheers die down. One cameraman zooms in on Arthur’s face as he smiles back.

“It’s a funny story. He saved my hand. Five years ago, or was it six?”

“Seven,” interjects Merlin.

“That’s right. Seven. Before I had even played in my first professional concert.” Arthur lifts his right hand and wiggles the fingers. “Without him, there would be no solo album. There would be no music at all! Well, not from me, anyway.”

“So… Tell us more!” says Gwen while the cameraman focuses in on Arthur’s hand.

The audience gasps. An ugly mass of thick red scar tissue mars the whole palm from the base of Arthur’s thumb to the gap between his fourth and fifth fingers.

“Oh, my God. Poor you! That looks awful!” Gwen frowns. “But how on earth did you do that? And how did Merlin manage to save your hand? What makes your husband such an expert saviour of injured limbs?”

“Luckily for me, he’s a specialist hand surgeon,” says Arthur, grabbing Merlin’s right wrist, revealing Merlin’s long, pale elegant fingers, which he waggles at the audience. “With this fair hand, ladies and gentleman, he stitched me back together, fixed the intricate network of severed nerves, tendons and ligaments. And through abundant surgeries and physio and what have you, he and his team of experts taught me how to move my fingers again.”

“Some sort of saint?”

“Saint? ” Arthur laughs, dropping Merlin’s hand. “More like a sadist. Right, Merlin?”

“It was fairly painful and protracted process, I have to admit,” says Merlin with a rueful chuckle. His voice is a pleasant baritone, with a faint Irish burr. “I would not have blamed him if he had given up. But thankfully, Arthur is one of the most stubborn, pig-headed—”

“Stubborn?” Arthur interrupts. “I would have you know that am determined and disciplined, you ill-mannered, scruffy-maned—”

“Obstinate,” carries on Merlin, talking over him. “Mule-like.”

“I think you mean tenacious, Merlin.”

“Stiff-necked.”

“Persistent!” Placing one hand on his chest, Arthur turns to the audience for sympathy. “You see what I have to put up with, ladies and gentlemen?”

“Aww!” choruses the audience, ever obliging for the golden boy of piano.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Well, you’re courageous, I suppose. Plus, with all that training you do, fit to the point of thuggishness—”

“Thuggishness? I’m a consummate athlete—”

They’re staring adoringly at one another at this point. Arthur’s gaze flicks down to Merlin’s mouth, and their heads move closer together as if they have forgotten that they’re in a studio. Tamping down her reluctance at interrupting their sweet squabbling, Gwen clears her throat instead. They both stop speaking and turn to her, pink-cheeked under their stage make-up.

“So what you’re saying is that, in a way, we ultimately have Merlin to thank for the Excalibur album, then?” She smiles, tilting her head to one side, and takes a sip of her wine while a photograph of the album cover flashes onto the screen at her side.

“Thank? Blame, more like.” Merlin chuckles and then doubles over as Arthur pokes him in the ribs.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Ow! Prat!” He flails, batting Arthur’s hand away.

Gwen lets the audience laugh for a moment or two before hushing them with a practiced wave of her hand.

“Well I, for one, am very grateful, and so are Arthur’s legions of adoring fans. Aren’t we?” she turns to the crowd, who cheer on cue.

“Well, you’re all being very kind.” Arthur grasps Merlin’s hand and smiles at him. Merlin gazes back adoringly, causing the audience to break out in a sibilant wave of collective gasps and awwing sounds.

“It’s entirely mercenary,” Gwen says, beaming. “We’re looking forward to hearing you play!”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint you—”

“Plus I’d kill him if he did,” interjects Merlin.

“He would, too!”

The interview is going brilliantly. Gwen flashes another smile at the audience and congratulates herself on netting this opportunity to chat informally with the normally elusive Pendragon-Emrys power couple.

“So, tell us more about what happened.” She leans forward, tilting her head on one side. “A surgeon and an injured budding concert pianist meet on the street. It sounds like fate, almost.”

“Well, certainly it was lucky that our paths met when they did,” says Merlin. “It felt kind of inevitable, like a sort of confluence, I suppose. And when I say it was lucky, I don’t just mean for Arthur, either. Because, actually, well. He would never say this, because he gets all embarrassed, but I can, and the world should know about his bravery. In fact, that’s why I agreed to do this interview, because we want to draw attention to the plight of specialist provision for functional surgery in the U.K. and… well. The fact is that Arthur would never have been injured if he hadn’t been trying to protect me.”

Arthur winces. “Oh, God. Do we have to do this?”

“Yes!” say Merlin and Gwen at the same time, plus one or two over-excited hecklers.

“Go on, Merlin.” Gwen says. “Please tell us more.”

“Well. Picture the scene. There I am, it’s broad daylight, on the mean streets of Southwark… and I am in the process of being mugged by a gang of kids. You know, the usual late teens, after my phone and my money—”

“You should have just given it to them,” says Arthur.

“But not wanting to give away my phone, with all my patients’ contact details in it, I put up a bit of a fight. And this girl pulls a knife out of her jacket pocket. I can see her, she’s terrified but determined at the same time, because it means a lot to her, being in the gang, I suppose. But it’s my phone and I don’t want to give it up. And then suddenly this blond-haired, posh thundercloud erupts from round the corner yelling about how the muggers need to stop that, and to leave me alone...”

“I am not,” says Arthur, “posh!”

“You so are, Mr Poshface. You iron your socks, for God’s sake.”

“That’s not posh. That’s just basic personal hygiene, Mr Scruffy-pants.”

“Basic? Basic in what universe? The playing fields of Eton are not basic, mate.”

“Ahem.” Gwen coughs behind a politely raised fist.

“Oh. Sorry. Where was I?”

“Being rescued by a thundercloud,” supplies Gwen. “A proper super-hero. Did he have his underpants on, on the outside? Like Superman?”

“No!” Merlin’s eyes widen. “Oh, but now there’s a mental picture!”

“It’s mental, all right,” mutters Arthur.

“Shh! Anyway, when Arthur comes bearing down on this girl with this look in his eye, all chiselled jaw and flashing blue eyes and manly self-righteousness, honestly I think I fall in love right there and then, or I would have if I didn’t think I was just about to get stabbed, and him with me...”

“Awww!” chimes in the audience, by now thoroughly charmed.

“But she’s got a knife,” Merlin carries on. “I yell out to warn him...”

“Yell out? You screamed, Merlin.”

“I did not! Prat!”

“You did! You were quite the damsel in distress.”

“What? Now, hold on a minute! I’m not a damsel, you’re the damsel here. As I recall, you were the one who was all Mister… oh, oh! My hand! My haaaaand!” says Merlin, putting on a high pitched voice and clutching his own hand to his chest in faux terror.

“I am not a damsel!” protests Arthur. “And anyway, you were the mister save me save me from the nasty lady, oh, big strong man.” Arthur adopts a high pitched voice of his own.

“Such a revisionist view of history. Prat.”

“I’m merely relating the facts. Idiot.”

“Idiot? You most certainly are.”

“Says you.”

“I do.”

Their voices fall to a low murmur and their faces start to converge again, prompting the audience to break out in more sighs. Anyone can see from their doe eyes and constant touching how in love they are, how in tune with each other. Gwen could burst from how adorable it all is. And judging from the cooing noises emanating from the array of teenage girls who had managed to colonise the front row, she is not alone in this.

But she needs to wrap up this interview in the next minute or so, so she says “So, what happened next?”

“What?” Arthur clears his throat, and they spring apart, as if stung. “Ahem!”

“Oh!” says Merlin at the same time, blinking and wrenching his gaze away from his partner’s lips. “Well, Arthur puts his hand out to stop this girl from stabbing me, and she slashes at his hand instead, like that.” Merlin accompanies this statement with a slicing movement across his palm. “We all look at it. It’s bleeding like buggery. Blood everywhere. Gushing. She looks a bit sick, and I realise how young she is, right? The blokes with her are all like “Shit, Sefa, look what you done?” and they run off.”

“Thank God,” breathes Gwen. “Bloody cowards, though.”

“Yeah, I know. But they’re just kids. So I tell her to drop the knife and she does, and legs it after them. So then I’m left with Mr Poshy here, bleeding out all over the pavement, and staring at his hand, scared, and talking about his hand, and he wants to be a concert pianist, it’s all he’s ever wanted to do, and he’s just saved my life, and you know? I can see what he’s got going on with his hand, and it’s not pretty. I’m scared for him. Genuinely.”

The audience is silent now.

“So, what did you do, Arthur?” says Gwen.

Arthur takes up the story. “Well, I’d just won my first record deal. You know, it must have been what. Seven years ago? And I thought it was all over, at first. I just looked at my hand and I could see my future crashing down around my ears. I couldn’t move my fingers. And then this guy— it’s Merlin, in case you hadn’t gathered, and he’s still here, with those cheekbones and those blue eyes of his— he just says…”

“Trust me, I’m a doctor.” Merlin smiles then, a breathtaking, sweet smile that lights up his face and presses his eyes into tiny blue half-moons tucked away above his cheeks.

Arthur smiles back. “I didn’t believe him at first,” he says, softly. “But there was something about the way that he looked at me that made me trust him. Thank God I did. Because a year later, I could start playing again. And within two years, I was back to playing in concerts. It was a miracle really.” He grabs Merlin’s hand and raises it to his mouth, kissing it chastely. “Magic.”

The room holds its breath. You could hear a pin drop.

Into this silence, Gwen speaks. “So. That’s why you’re raising money for this charity?”

“That’s right. All the proceeds from this album will go to the functional rehabilitation unit at St Thomas’s hospital. Because joking apart, these guys save peoples’ livelihoods.”

“Thank you. Now, Arthur, will you play for us?”

“It would be my honour.” Arthur walks over to the piano, a wall of cheering and applause encouraging him on. With a flick of his hand, he settles the tails of his suit jacket across the back of the piano stool and hovers his fingertips over the keys. And the audience subsides into silence and listens, enthralled.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, I'm not getting paid for this work.


End file.
